Abrupt
by Links6
Summary: A crisis never gives you fair warning, does it? Some appendicitis pain on the way! stubborn!sick!Dean worried!Sam
1. Abrupt

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: Written in kinda a rush, so please excuse the spelling/grammer errors ^^;;

AN(1): Slight OC-ness expected as per usual...

AN(2): Set sometime during Season 1…

ENJOY!

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**Abrupt**

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Dean rubs absently at his side with the palm of his hand, a habit of late. His other hand still fiddling with the keys, he's been stuck on opening the trunk of Metallicar for a while now.

Sam grunts and shifts the wooden box in his arms. By now he'd probably collected seven splinters in his arms, in addition to the several scratches from the corners. Carrying around a box full of ammo and rock salt _isn't _as lightweight as they always made it out to be in the movies.

"Anytime would be good, Dean," Sam seethes through his teeth.

The older Winchester brother growled and rattled the keys in the lock, "It won't OPEN!" he snaps.

"It might help if you TURN the damn keys," Sam says, trying to balance the box on his lifted knee, not helping when the leg he's balancing on is wobbly.

Dean starts tilting the keys, he blinks, "It's not … working… " he says and lets out a breath. He leans heavily on the trunk, by now his right hand started gripping his side.

Sam's instincts kicked in at the sight and he set the box down on the ground, "Are you alright?" he puts an arm around Dean's shoulders, earning a slap from his brother.

"Get off me!" Dean growls wringing himself from his brother's grasp. He jabs at the lock again in frustration. By now his breathing had made a solid migration from relatively normal to downright staccato rasps.

The youngest Winchester's eyes narrows. He'd seen this coming. For a couple of days now. He checked off the glossy eyes and fever just two days ago. Yesterday the trembling in the fingers started along with the stooping posture. He was pretty sure the flu would've hit his brother full force by now, but Sam chalked it off to Dean's excessive sleeping. It happened whenever Dean didn't feel 'normal', his brother would start sleeping…. A LOT. His normal four hour sleep maximum would be upgraded to ten –and that was when Dean actually started setting his alarm to wake up.

Sam frowns, "Dude, where'd you stash the first aid kit?" he says, rolling up his sleeves for effect. "I think I got like twenty splinters in my arms."

"Baby skin, Sammy, I've been telling you that for years," Dean says and grins, he walks over to the open backdoor, reaching inside.

Sam subtly turned the key, popping the trunk open. He _was _about to pick up the box again… until…

"_OOooff-_" Dean's muffled voice was followed by a groan.

Sam's head popped up. "What happened?" he asks, walking over to the side of the Chevy.

The sight of Dean's jean-clad legs flailing about outside the door made Sam chuckle.

"Shut up, bitch, I CAN hear you, you know!" Dean snaps and tries to haul himself out of the Impala. He gratefully took Sam's hand, only to suddenly drop down as if someone punched him in the gut.

Sam watched wide-eyed as his brother gasped for breath and contracted, "Are you okay!" he asks. He hates how close to hysteria his voice is sounding.

"UGH! I knew this was going to happen!" Dean grunts and rolls onto his right side, drawing his knees up, "Should've taken this thing out the first time!"

An inventory of supernaturals scrolled in front of Sam's eyes, only to have him realize that it _wasn't _something supernatural at all. And worse, it wasn't just 'The Flu'.

It was something Dean would get struck down by every few years since he was twelve. It was something that was passed down from Mary to her oldest son. Something John had thought could wait while they were out hunting werewolves in Jericho. And even _then _the matron at the hospital had warned that it would be a recurring event and would be best to deal with right away. John had smiled, nodded and wheeled a morphine-doped Dean out of the ward.

Aspirin and rest works wonders. Just like a good 'ol bar of soap can disinfect a Chupacabra bite. And if _that _doesn't work, J&B or Bells on the rocks can disinfect you from the inside.

'_cause a Winchester can't be taken out by such a girly pinprick, right, Dean?_

Oh yea. Fricken' kickass appendicitis.

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I'm not too sure about completing this…. I'll see how it goes review/fav-wise :)

Thanks for reading!


	2. Out of the Blue

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: Set sometime during Season 1…

Thank you so much for all your favourites, alerts and reviews! I really appreciate them!

A big shout-out to OpheliacAngel, Moika, moira4eku, future , Lbdba and goldfishie1 for their reviews *hearts*

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**Out of the Blue**

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"You should go to the hospital"

"And you should get laid, but you don't see me going on about it," Dean countered, rolling over to face his brother.

Sam was sitting on the other bed, pulling another splinter from his arm, "If that thing pops you're in for one hell of a ride," he says with a sickening amount of heartlessness. And as Dean's face drops at the thought of that 'POP' sound, Sam smirked.

"Whatever," was the only feasible retort Dean could come up with. He had already covertly popped two aspirin, but he was already eyeing the Vicodin in the med-kit with his x-ray vision. He was pretty sure he was developing some form of x-ray vision at the moment. Especially because he can actually SEE the white hot lightning strikes of pain running through his body.

Sam hisses suddenly and holds up a splinter to the light, "What the hell is it with old book stores and _wooden crates?_" he snaps and tosses the splinter on his nightstand, "Ouch….". On the small stand between the beds were about ten splinters, all lined up in a row. The box was even more dangerous than the last vengeful spirit they hunted.

"You're not going to get blood-poisoning and die, right?" Dean grins as Sam viciously rubs his arms in agitation.

"Bite me," his brother snaps back, checking his arms one more time to make SURE there were no more of those splinters left. At least the cuts weren't splinter-infused.

"It would've been easier if I just did that for you," Dean says and smirks, "I'm a whizz at plucking splinters."

Sam opened his mouth but quickly bit back his sarcastic remark. He settled instead for a pout. Dean chuckled for a moment, only to have his hand fly to his side again.

"I'm heading out," Sam suddenly declares, standing up and pulling on his jacket, "Cheeseburger, right?"

Dean makes a grunting noise, and Sam that as a 'yes'.

Sam can see his brother's fingers digging into his side, his knuckles turning white. He decides not to comment as he shoves his wallet in his pocket.

As far as Sam was concerned, Dean wasn't beyond himself in pain anymore, meaning the bout was receding. That was a good sign. It's when simple actions like opening a door, switching on a light or tying shoelaces became too complicated and incomprehensible – that's when Sam's "OH SHIT"-o-meter went into overdrive. It also happens when Dean starts asking the same questions over and over. That was terrifyingly amusing.

But, right now, they were between "You're fine" and "Are you okay?". And that was an abyss they were used to. After several concussions; two broken arms; three fractured feet; a broken wisdom tooth and countless bruises and cuts, this little abyss was considered normal.

Dean stifles the reflexive cough working up his throat. And he _hated that. _Every single time he had a bout like this, he'd 'conveniently' acquire a coughing fetish. And each time he coughed, he felt like his entire lat-system went into spasm, pulling on his abs and thus, his poor intestines. And his intestines didn't appreciate that. And, like any intestine would, they show their displeasure in the only way they know how: stitches. And muscle stitches running from your right leg up to your neck wasn't as fun as it sounded.

He was pretty sure at some point during his _macho _leopard crawl to the first-aid kit, he lost his pride. He started grunting and whining, shuffling more of his weight on his left side –hoping to spare his right side from stretching too much. He figured, as long as Sam wasn't around, he was damn well free to do as he pleased. And right now, that meant one endless rant of moaning, "_Stupid first-aid kit… oh nooooo…. We HAVE to leave it by the bathroom, otherwise the damn leprechauns will steal it and fill it with M&Ms…. No, Dean, it's not a good thing – it's bad for your health! You should know chocolate has poly-hexagons of fructose and MSG from Nebraska in there…. Don't shoot the Nebraska Leprechauns with Rock Salt, Dean! You're soooo mean!_"

"I didn't know Nebraska had Leprechauns," Sam's voice echoes in the room, the sound of the motel room door shutting behind him follows.

Dean popped up in a standing position, literally grinning and bearing the shooting pain in his side. He shifted all his weight to his left foot, bending his right leg and allowing his foot to rise a bit. The slight elevation stopped his guts from feeling like they were about to claw their way out. And that would be the scariest most awesome thing he'd seen since Aliens –and he's not counting the Shtriga hunting in Brockway, Pennsylvania when he was fifteen.

He frowned at the paper bag Sam was holding. He was pretty sure that Sam had just LEFT. He couldn't have been gone more than four minutes... so, when he casually checked the time, and fifteen minutes of his life suddenly were sucked into a black hole -that or he was transported into the future- he was left with a slight case of vertigo.

"I was just looking for -" Dean started strong, but ended up mumbling the ending, gesturing to the bathroom. Fact that he felt his shirt clinging to him and his hair matted against his forehead wasn't encouraging. He knew the damn fever was still toasting his internal thermometer. What was worse, he didn't _feel _hot. He actually felt cold. Friggen goosebumps were included in that little package deal. And Dean _knew _chills weren't a good sign. Not when all the times he had to deal with Sammy with _chills, _the kid's fever was over the roof... which probably meant HIS was through the roof at the moment... and that explains the vertigo...

"Yeah, yeah. I've got your cheeseburger," Sam dismisses the oncoming torturous excuse, changing the subject.

"Thanks, dude," and Dean caught the cheeseburger with a grin. He grinned and winked, waiting with some veined patience for Sam to peel his damned observant eyes away from his brother, so the elder brother could salvage his reminiscent pride and limp back to his bed. It took a second too long for Sam's attention diversion to kick in, and Dean bit his cheek to stop himself from pulling a face.

"You okay?" Sam asks, reaching blindly into the paper bag on the table and pulled out a coke, "You look kinda…. "

"Shut up and get me a beer," Dean snaps and waits until Sam's diving back into the bag before starting his trudge. He grabs his jacket off the chair by the table and quickly dives into it. Good thing about leather, it almost has its own radiator built in.

He continues his little vertical swam through the motel carpet towards his bed; at least it wasn't shag carpeting. Unfortunately, shag carpeting is only cool the first two days after its purchase. After that, it's a CSI's heaven and any cleaner's hell.

When he finally reached his bed he dropped the burger on the nightstand. He slowly eased himself down, having to use all the power in his arms to keep himself from dropping down too fast. Motel beds aren't comfortable to begin with, and trying to find some resemblance of comfort on that lumpy spongy mattress is like reliving Saving Private Ryan. True. And grass and dirt is much more comfortable than some of the motel mattresses they've had to sleep on.

He pulled his legs up to his chest once he was lying down and scooted closer to the headboard, "Where's my beer, Sammy?" Dean chirped with a smile, relieved that actually just pulling his legs closer to him lessened the pain.

Dean figures it was easier just to wait until morning as usual. The whole 'appendix-bout' always lasted less than four days. So, only one more day to go. That was bearable. He could do without taking more aspirin or Vicodin. The last thing he was about to ASK for was his BABY BROTHER to hand him PAIN KILLERS. NEVER!

And so, the brothers had a good old fashioned _healthy _Winchester dinner. By ten it was lights out and both were quite contently sleeping….

"Sam-m…. " Dean called, barely managing to poke Sam on the arm.

The young man blearily cracked open an eye. Call it sixth sense, or Sammy-sense, but he KNEW there was something wrong. SERIOUSLY wrong. Because when they haven't actually drunk enough to BE _drunk_ and the sound of vomiting filled the room, there HAD to be something seriously wrong.

_Because Winchesters do NOT throw up._ That is reserved for special occasions.

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I know it takes a long time to write review so I really appreciate it when I receive one! Even just a 'cool' or 'Cool fic' was sometimes enough to poke me back into a writing mood. Thank you so much for all your support so far!

Thanks for reading!


	3. Gradually

EDITED! I first posted up the edition I wrote on Friday night- which I stayed up for until 3am… which sucked because ff(d0t)net isn't taking to kindly to uploading ANYTHING atm. This is the revised edition.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: Set sometime during Season 1… after episode 1x12 'Faith'

Thank you so much for all your favourites, alerts and reviews! I really appreciate them! They really make my day :DD

A big shout-out to stjra, speckled girl , goldfishie1, moira4eku , smalld1171, future , CandyCakes, LeighAnnWallace, b, firgodes7, SingleMinded, timetowaste247, Amy, smalld1171, kelco and Ashley for their reviews *huggles*

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**Gradually**

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Dragging Wolverine down to the Impala was a bit more troublesome than Sam had bargained for. The: insisting to walk unassisted until he was near the point of collapse, the swearing, the sound of his brother grating of the teeth together. The ranting…

"Stop dragging your damn feet, Sasquatch… your shirt smells… why's it so cold out here? … did I puke?"

By the time Sam had stuffed Dean in the backseat and shut the door, he was losing it. Dean _always _did this to him when he'd get sick. He'd be stubborn to the point of him almost passing out; he'd start ranting about _everything; _he'd end up talking weird shit once the fever hit full force and then… well… up until now, Sam had never been past that point.

The youngest Winchester started the Impala, he couldn't help but revel in the rumbling of the engine vibrating through the steering wheel. It wasn't the first time he'd been 'allowed' to drive the Impala, but it was always something special. Sam can still remember the first time: he had just got his driving license. That day, Dean had given the 'special once-off privilege' of driving back home to Sam. That was like a birthday and Christmas present all rolled up into one. That was such a great feeling, knowing how Dean must trust him enough to allow him to _drive Metallicar home. _A sweet memory was suddenly replaced by the terrifying reality.

Dean _wasn't _smiling and congratulating him at the moment. No, Dean was on the backseat passed out from the pain…

A cough from the backseat jarred Dean from a light doze, "Hmmm… Sam?" he asks, his voice sounding hoarse and puffing. He was still in pain.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam replies, forcing himself to sound as calm as possible. He keeps his eyes on the road as he speeds down the route. He was pretty sure the hospital was only two blocks away. On the way down to this town he'd seen the sign…

"I hate hospitals…" Dean says, a hiss follows as the bumps in the road pulls on his side.

"I know," Sam quickly says and pulls up in front of the hospital.

Sam pulled on the handbrake, not even bothering to quit the engine before running inside for help. He was past the point of caring that his voice was breaking.

When Sam had run back out and found the passenger door open, he wasn't surprised that Dean had presented the pavement with a Technicolor yawn. His older brother spat out the remaining acid taste in his mouth before looking up at Sam, "I don't feel so good," he states and worms himself further into the Impala to lie down again.

Two minutes later and the EMT strapped Dean to the stretcher they had wheeled out and took him to the ICU. Sam was left with a sweet sixteen intern whose job it was to calm him enough to finally remove the Impala from the front doors. It took a minute before Sam slid back into the car, driving around to the visitor's parking and shutting down the engine.

He forced himself to concentrate on his breath.

_Remember Dad's training…._

_Breathe in… 1…2…3…. Breathe out…._

_Dean will be alright. He's tough._

_Breathe in… 1…2…3…. Breathe out…._

_He's been through much worse than this._

_Breathe in… 1…2…3…. Breathe out…._

…. Dean.

HE had allowed this to happen. HE allowed Dean's stubborn act to go on for so long. HE was the one who didn't force Dean to go to the hospital. It was all his fault.

And with that single thought his breathing hitched again. He grabbed the steering wheel and rested his forehead on it. His throat clenched at the thought. After what happened with _that_ hunt… Dean lying on that hospital bed with the blood-pressure meter on his arm, the oxygen mask, the IVs…

Sam wasn't one to scare easily. He'd seen supernatural creatures his entire life… scary came with the territory. Werewolves, Witches and demons were part of his childhood… But Dean lying on that bed… that scared him shitless.

Standing by Dean's bed _again_… he wasn't sure if it was worse this time or not.

His brother was already sleeping, his right leg drawn up to his chest. His face was slightly pulled into a frown. The machine keeping tabs on his heartbeat was bleeping slightly erratically, like a drummer missing a beat then trying to catch up by adding one a second later.

The fever was upping again. Sam noticed the sheen of sweat on his brother's forehead as he put his hand on his brother's forehead. His fever was much higher now than just a few hours earlier. And Sam _knew _that _that _wasn't good news.

"Dean?" Sam muttered lowly, trying not to attract any attention of any of the other ward patients. "Are you awake?"

A grumble was heard, but that was all Sam needed to stop feeling like all the air in the world was sucked out of him. _He's okay. He'll be okay. _

"We gave your brother a dose of Morphine, but unfortunately he's still in a bit of pain… " the young nurse said, her manner as professional as ever. It was irritating the hell out of Sam. "The ultrasound is showing signs of inflammation around the area… that means the appendicitis is acute. We'll schedule him for surgery once the consent forms and medical aid forms are completed." And after that, she continues on about some other tests they will have to run before operating on his brother.

Unfortunately the only thing Sam fully concentrates on is the fact that Dean was now holding his side again, the frown on his face deepening.

The nurse asks him if he has any questions. She smiles comfortingly.

Sam bit his lip to stop himself for stopping himself from asking the usual questions. _Will he be okay? How bad is it? _He turned around and pulled the chair next to Dean's bed closer and sat down. "When's he going in for surgery?"

"I hate hospitals… don't take me to one…" Dean suddenly muttered, cracking an eye open to glare at Sam. Or, at least, where Sam's voice had come from. It was obvious Dean was too out of it to focus -since his eyes were swimming all over the room. He didn't even crack a pick-up line at the nurse. He HAD to be doped up.

"He's been saying that since he got here," the nurse said, a slight amusement tinged with annoyance filled her voice.

"Yeah… bad experience with stitches," Sam covers quickly. The excuse was plausible, considering the amount of scars with stitches lining Dean's arm and legs alone.

The nurse nodded and smiled, "We'll prep him in about an hour…".

She hands him some paperwork and a pen before leaving to attend to the other patients in the ward.

It wasn't true though. A couple of _stitches _wouldn't be enough to deter his brother from anything. But, after what happened with the Social Workers when Dean's physical at school revealed the bruises Dean had received from a couple of sparring rounds with a Witch… fourteen year-old Dean had developed a semi-phobia for hospitals.

"Don't take me to a hospital, dude," Dean says, scrunching up his face.

"Mmm mmm," came Sam non-committal answer, patting Dean on the knee. He didn't want to spook his brother into an alert state. Not when Dean was relatively peaceful.

That seemed to put him at ease and within minutes, there was a bit of a snore coming from his brother. And that just somehow filled Sam with a strange sort of pride. Dean would believe him and trust him with his life, no matter how zonked out of his mind he was. And that left Sam feeling like…. For once, _he _was the Big Brother.

And that's when Sam decided. The moment Dean's well enough to be moved after his surgery; Sam's going to drive them down to Bobby's… and convince Dean that Bobby had done a 'emergency appendix removal operation' right there on Bobby's living room table.

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Thanks for reading!


	4. Slow but Sure

Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: Set sometime during Season 1… after episode 1x12 'Faith'

Btw, the motel in this fic is non-existent... as far as I know lol... secondly, I'm not sure how the school system overseas work, so... *shrugs* just used the one we have here :)

Can't believe this received like 32 alerts! That's crazy! I've never had this many alerts before! Thank you so much, I really appreciate them :DD

I wanted to update this a bit sooner, but I'm having trouble to upload anything up to ff (dot)net the past few days…. So… yeah… sorry about the delay. BUT, I hope it's worth it! This is a slightly more melancholic chapter though! So BE WARNED! Melancholy ahead!

Thanks you so much to timetowaste247, Amy, smalld1171, kelco and moira4eku for their reviews *huggles* It's really great to receive ideas on a next chapter or to find out what you liked about the story. I really love your reviews! Thank you so much!

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Slow but Sure

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Two hours later and Dean was still asleep from the anesthesia. The surgeon told Sam that the sides of the appendix were already starting to burst by the time they operated and if he had waited an hour, it would've been too late. Septicemia wasn't something surgeons ever mess with, neither do Winchesters.

_Soap_ _is a great fantastic disinfected… and if that doesn't work, Whiskey disinfects from the inside-out._

The headache Sam's been wrestling with since he came to the hospital started becoming more and more stinging and irritating by the second. But he knew, it was just a bit of stressed. Hypertension. That's all.

He shifts in his chair and a loud creak resounds through the room. Several of the other occupants send him a death glare, but he just sighs in frustration.

Dean's still knocked out, lying waayyy to still on that bed. Usually he'd at least have flipped over by now or something. But he's got the IV on, dark circles under his eyes, standing out way too much on his pale face. And Sam's not sure if a silent panic attack is even possible, but he's pretty sure he's experiencing it right now.

Sam rubs his forehead and rests his elbows on the bed. It can't be helped when Sam's guilt trip over tricking Dean kicks in and he's left with that sinking depression that comes with many of his memories.

….. … …

"Oh…. This?" Dean looks down at the bruises on his ribs and arms as if he hadn't noticed them before. In all honesty, since two days ago, they stopped hurting. The once black bruises had now turned a dark blue, some green. John was pretty good at finding pain-killing cream. Usually it ended up being some arnica oil, but sometimes John would go out and buy the good stuff. The name of 'The Good Stuff' was three miles long, but it worked, and that's all Dean cared about. He didn't like the smell though, too minty.

The examination nurse of the school tilted her head. "Dean, where did all these bruises come from?" the young woman asked again, a more serious tone to her voice now.

During recess Dean and Tyron had gotten in a fight. And, since Tyron was the Vice-principle of the school's nephew… things went south from there. Tyron was sent home, an impressive shiner on his cheek to show for it. Dean, on the other hand, was grunting and holding his side. He was sent to the nurse to get checked if he hadn't been really hurt in the fight. Only after the examination would the principle decide what course of action to take.

"I got it from -" Dean pauses and thinks his words over for a moment. He could practically hear his dad telling him: 'No-one else must know about hunting these things, Dean. The world isn't ready for that'. And so, Dean just shrugs, "… when I fell off my bike…", and even he knows that's a lame excuse. And again, he can practically _hear _John telling him to 'hmmm… try again, Dean.'

The nurse frowns, "Dean… could you wait here for a few minutes, please?"

And so it began. In three hours Social Workers from Denver, Colorado were called in and were interviewing both of John's boys. And John could do nothing but sit in the waiting area and…. Well… wait.

He was working a part-time job at a mechanic shop downtown. The pay wasn't too bad and it was a weekly wage. A good thing, especially when hunts rolled in. For almost two months now they had been living quite peacefully in the motel 'Sleepy Cats' in Jericho. Sammy was settling into Grade four and reveling at the fact that, for the first time in almost two years, he could be relatively safe at assuming that "tomorrow we're going to school in Jericho". Only four days of school were missed during this whole time and to John, that was a new record.

A few weeks ago, Dean had asked whether or not they'll be leaving soon. John was pretty vague, as usual, but he could see the happiness in his son's eyes. And that feeling only grew later that day when he heard Dean telling his brother "We're staying in Jericho for a while this time!", followed by Sam's excited yell. Dean would blow it off by saying "Sam, you're such a freak… you're the only kid I know who's _excited _to go to school!". But, that was Dean-speak for: "I'm happy too".

_But, now?_ John hated this. Because he could practically _see _what's about to unfold. They'll leave, Sam'll hate him again and Dean will try and regain the peace. Again. It was like an endless loop, and one John would give anything just to stop. Even for a short while. And they had done a pretty good job, until now.

A week ago, the three of them were down at Topeka for a quick and easy poltergeist salt-and-burn. They planned to go on a short weekend road-trip and just have a fun weekend. That was what they _planned. _It turned out, the poltergeist was one of many, all little 'gifts' from a friggin 'new-age' witch's chanting.

And that just sucked.

They tracked down the witch by Sunday night and managed to off her. Her little 'hoodoo' bags had several of the people in town sick, and John had the sucky job of trying to weed through her concoctions of weird shit, trying to find them. He ended up torching the whole room… but, not after she threw all her creepy crystal balls, managed to scratch him with her friggen French-cut red painted nails and threw her sissy punches at the front-door-duty-standing Dean.

That was the first time Dean ever swore in front of his dad. "Damn skeevy witch!" he had yelled before landing a solid punch to the screeching witch. He had been hit a few times by a stray glass orb and the odd scratch here and there… but John practically glowed with pride at the sight of Dean's hunting strength. That night was also the first time Dean said the word 'skeevy' and since then, whenever they would _mention _witches, Dean would shudder.

But right now, Dean wasn't there to back-up John. And John couldn't be there for his sons. Sam wasn't safe in the Impala and Dean wasn't outside with his sawed-off shotgun. _They _were in trouble and he couldn't do anything about it. And it was eating him from the inside.

"You don't have to lie to us, Dean, we're here to help," the young lady said. Her voice sweet and her smile even sweeter.

Dean hasn't unfolded his arms once, not since they told him that he couldn't see his dad. He narrowed his eyes, "I'm not lying. You're just not listening," he snapped. "I want to go home."

The Social Service man had nodded with a sad smile but shook his head, "I know…. You don't want to get in trouble," he offered.

Dean blinked dumbly. "No, I _want _to go home, you're wasting out time for nothing."

The older man sighed, "Dean, you know we can protect you, right? You and your brother, Sam… you don't want anything to happen to him, right?"

Dean shook his head quickly, "No!" he almost shouts.

"Then we can take you with us," the man said and smiled comfortingly.

"With you? Are you kidding me?" Dean said, an incredulous smile on his face. "You think you can protect me better than _my dad _can?". He chuckles and raises his eyebrow in amusement, "You're funny."

"No… I don't think you understand… we can protect you from your dad…. That this never happens again…" the man explained, motioning towards the bruises on Dean's arm.

"You…. Think…" Dean snapped his hand around his arm. He didn't realize that _that _was what they'd been talking about all the time until now. And now, he really was in trouble. He was angry. He felt like crying. _Why would they even think that his DAD would EVER do something like that? To him? His own son?_

From the room next door he can hear crying, and without a thought Dean jumped to his feet.

"I want to see my dad!" Sam yelled, his crying still heard _clearly _through the walls.

Dean skillfully dove down and slid out of the room and into the next, gathering up Sam in his arms before jogging down the hall. "DAD!"

And John is standing in the hallway not a second later, picking up Sam from Dean's arms. Sam immediately started crying on John's shoulder, his arms tightening uncomfortably around his father's neck. "Let's get out of here!" Dean yelled and tugged on John's shirt.

John opened the passenger door of the Impala, smiling as both Dean and Sam slid into the backseat. He climbed in the driver's seat and started the car. "Ready to go, boys?" he asked, forcing himself to sound much more cheery than he felt. Sam just sniffed and nodded. Dean just wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders and hung his head.

Two states over and Dean finally lent over the seat towards his dad, "Dad…. Demons I get… you know… but people are crazy…"

… … …

"Smmm-y?" Dean mutters, clears his throat and licks his lips, "You… okay?".

Sam sits up, blinking blearily and for a second he's completely lost as to where he is. But as he looks up at Dean's worried face –when HE's the one in the hospital bed- Sam smiles.

"I'm fine, sleeping beauty," Sam jokes lightly.

"Mm… glad you noticed," Dean says and swallows dryly, "They got beer here?"

Sam rolls his eyes, "I'm on it," he says, returning a few minutes later with ice chips in hand. But Dean's asleep by the time he gets back.

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_Thank you so much for reading! :DD_


	5. prompt

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: Set sometime during Season 1… after episode 1x12 'Faith'

Last chappie! I didn't expect it'd get this far xD Thank you so much for all your favourites, alerts and reviews! They really inspired me to get to work faster :D

A super special thanksies to Leigh Ann Wallace, smalld1171, samsAngel , Brightshadow-chi , Amy and moira4eku for their reviews *huggles* It's been really great to receive ideas on a next chapter or to find out what you liked about the story. I really loved your reviews! Thank you so much! I really appreciate them! This chapter is for you guys!

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**Prompt**

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"Sam?" Dean says for the fourth time, looking over to where he'd seen his brother last. Sam can tell Dean was just checking to see that he was still there.

Sam smiles, "Still here, Dean… you should get some rest…" he says again. He checks the time and figures four hours is a good sign. He didn't want to move his brother unless he really needed to, but being a Winchester came with the preordained time limit for time spent in a hospital. Unless they wanted to be picked up by the police or the US Marshalls…

It's been a while now since Dean's been wheeled out of the recovery room, but his anesthesia was still had his brain off to Mars. It always happened. Dean was one of the few people who never took painkillers just because of its affect on him. A double dose of mild painkillers usually had Dean slightly loopy, not too bad, but just enough that his reactions were that split second too slow for his liking. And, in the end, that was too high a risk for him.

Sam, on the other hand, always had to opt for the stronger painkillers. And, in the end, those were the ones who always ended up to be stocked up in the first-aid kit. But, that was a good indicator on how serious the pain was with Dean… if he opted for 'the good stuff' it was bad. And both brothers knew it.

The problem was, things _were _bad at the moment. Dean had returned to his 'repeat the same thing over and over' phase again. Which meant: the pain was still pretty bad and Dean was too zonked out of his mind to realize that he was repeating the same thing over and over.

Just half an hour ago, Sam had to pop down to the parking lot to the Impala. He ended up taking a dose of Vicodin to take the edge off the building migraine. It wasn't enough to completely erase the pain, but enough to take the edge off. And that's all Sam needed for now. He had to stay awake if he wanted to get Dean out of there as soon as possible. He held his bottle of water against his head, trying to cool his burning forehead. He was starting to wonder if his migraine _was _because of stress.

Sam was trying to find something to do… something to read… something to _do _to get his mind off of sitting there, doing nothing. He already read through all his messages in the inbox of his phone…. All the web pages he's saved on his phone. But, he was quickly running out.

"Sam…. " Dean calls again, followed by a groan. He's holding his side again and panting.

Sam sits forwards and uncurls Dean's hand from his side, "You're going to tear your stitches…" he says with a frown. He knows the morphine is working from Dean's system and soon he'll be a bit more coherent. And he's pretty sure the pair of them should be out of there by then.

He calls in the nurse to check on Dean's meds and to get the forms to check out.

"You'll be checking out against medical advice. The surgeon and the matron suggested that your brother stays at least overnight," the young nurse says with an unimpressed tone.

"We have to get moving. This wasn't an expected stop…" Sam offers with a feigned desperate look. "So… I would really appreciate it if you could bring me the forms now?"

It takes a while, but it eventually Sam managed to organize the AMA forms and a wheelchair for his brother. He _knew _Dean would kick his ass for _ever _stuffing him in a _wheelchair_, but there was no way Dean was coherent enough to even stand, let alone walk.

And, that was where the real kicker came in. Outside the hospital, with the Impala door open, was Sam and a semi-conscious Dean. Dean might be shorter than Sam, but he was heavier. Blame it on the muscle or the ego, but Dean wasn't exactly a 'lightweight' –_in more ways than one. _Sam ended up having to drag Dean out of the wheelchair and wrestle him into the passenger seat.

It would've been easier though, if Dean didn't latch onto him. Dean had latched on to Sam's neck and growled dangerously as Sam tugged on his arms, "Um…. D-Dean?" Sam mutters, trying to wriggle out of Dean's grasp.

"Ugh…. " Dean mumbles, suddenly lets go and draws his knees up to his chest, "_I feel like shit…_"

"You don't look too good either…." Sam couldn't help but quip as he shut the door. He walked over to the driver's seat and climbed in. He shut the door and sighed before he looked over to Dean.

He smiles. _At least you're okay, dude._

"_You have a headache… Sammy…" _Dean says and nudges Sam's arm.

"I just took a round of Vicodin, I'm fine," Sam says and smiles reassuringly. That was just like Dean. Always thinking of others.

Sam starts the Impala and reverses out of the parking lot. He takes off and takes his time to drive this time. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting an opportunity like this for a long time. Switching the music to alternative rock, he lowered the music enough so it wasn't disturbing to Dean, but he could still hear it clearly.

It was a rare opportunity that Dean would 'listen' to Sam without griping. Sam doesn't count the fact that Dean was _too unconscious _to be _able_ to whine.

Half-way through the guitar riff of Placebo's Every me Every you, and Dean's got a more alert look on his face as he looks around, "Where…. R… we going?" he asks, "No hospitals…. Right?"

"You know what dad said about hospitals… "Sam says with a forced smile, patting Dean on the knee, "We're heading to Bobby's…"

And just like that, all was settled again. They finally arrive _at _Bobby's two hours later. Sam leaves Dean in the car and heads to the back of the junkyard after checking the house. He finds Bobby in the back, replacing a tire on an old truck.

"What the hell have you boys been doin'?" Bobby asks, looking at Dean in the passenger seat.

"He had to have an appendectomy… I couldn't have him at the hospital when he wakes up… you know how much he hates hospitals…" Sam says and shuffles his feet uncomfortably, "I didn't know where else to go…"

Bobby looks at Sam for a moment before rolling his eyes, "I'll set up the guest room…"

"Oh… and… uh… Bobby?" Sam says and grins sheepishly before continuing, "I was wondering… would you mind if I told Dean that you….you know?"

"The closest thing to a scalpel I have is a cleaver, and you want me to tell your brother… that _I cut out a piece of his intestines with that?" _Bobby asks incredulously, but he knows what the answer will be. Sam was much more like his father than even Dean realized sometimes.

"….ugh… I have a pair of pliers and a carving knife around here somewhere…." He says after a moment and turns around with a grunt. "You boys are just as bad as your daddy…."

Sam ignores his comments, and heads over to Dean. "Let's get you inside…"

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"Sam…" Dean asks, his eyes aren't glazed over anymore.

"Hmmm…?" Sam mumbles, still relatively asleep.

It's two days later and his brother's recurring fever had, for the most part, dissipated. A regular dose of Vicodin and other painkillers had Dean on a cotton candy cloud of mellowness, meaning for the most part that Dean was asleep or in an almost hypnotic state. He would drink gulps of water at a time, but didn't really eat. But, they weren't too worried. Dean never was one to eat when he was sick.

"When did…. Who…?" Dean starts, but his words can't finish themselves. It felt like too many questions were floating in his mind, and to pick just one was a mission on its own.

"Bobby did… three days ago…" Sam says and rolls over to look at his brother.

Dean has already kicked all the covers off from his bed, but he looked better than he did that afternoon. "But… he doesn't…. he's never…" Dean starts, but growls in frustration when he can't even think straight enough to finish his own thoughts.

"Sure he can…. He's been the one to fix up all those other hunters… he was the one who re-set dad's broken arm, you know?" Sam says. He decidedly ignores to remind Dean that after Bobby's 'quick fix' that they would always head over to the hospital to have it check out just to be sure. Bobby was good at first aid, but he knew his limits. But, for now, Sam was content to let Dean believe the contrary.

"Oh…. Cool…" Dean says and sighs contently.

And that was that. A few times during the night, Dean would randomly say Sam's name, and each time Sam would answer. Because Sam knew, Dean just wanted him to be there. He didn't want to be alone. And Sam was fine with that… because, without Dean, he felt lonely too.

Dean woke up around four the next morning, sitting up with his sly grin in place as he threw the box of tissues next to his bed towards his brother to get him to wake up, "Dude…Where'd you put my beer?"

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_**Thanks for reading *hearts***_


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